


chi bene incomincia è a metà dell'opera

by sexyspork



Series: for in every language, you are mine [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, F/M, FYI, Mild Language, Natasha Feels, Natasha and Clint are okay with it, The Bastard - Freeform, because it wouldn't fit the flow of the story, oh yeah, still feel like I'm going to hell for this though, though no one is is, with a side of pheels in the comments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 19:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4150392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexyspork/pseuds/sexyspork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anonymous: <a href="http://norsekink.livejournal.com/3231.html?thread=7360671#t7360671">Coulson/Hawkeye, slave!fic</a></p><p>
  <i>It doesn't matter how you do it: I just want to see Coulson owning Clint. Somehow-happy ending would be loved, but do what you like!</i>
</p><p>AKA the rather infamous Clint/Coulson & Fury/Natasha slavery-verse from norsekink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	chi bene incomincia è a metà dell'opera

**Author's Note:**

  * For [windsweptfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/windsweptfic/gifts).



> Slowly moving my stuff from LJ to AO3. And because this was written prior to the first Avengers, it's not compliant with anything in MCU. ~~Sorry not sorry.~~ Originally published: September 10th, 2011
> 
> And this was inspired by this drawing by cradle_song/windsweptfic.

 

* * *

 

There is a kind of routine that Natasha has, when she is about to go undercover.  
  
She always spars with Clint the morning before, getting as much of the fight out of her system as possible before she is forced to assume another identity, because Lord only knows when she would be able to do it again. And when they’re left panting, hours later, sprawling over the mat in exhaustion, she’ll always smile when he tugs a lock of her hair. Because he’s her partner, and she knows he worries when he isn’t watching her back through a sniper scope.  
  
Eventually, duty calls and they’ll both roll to their feet and go their separate ways without saying a word, he towards Coulson and she towards her room to prepare.  
  
Nick will always be waiting for her, sitting at his desk and filling out paperwork while she heads to the shower to scrub the sweat from her body as she mentally reviews who she has to be. This is actually the easiest part, compartmentalizing who she is and then building up an entire new personality to use while she is under. Natasha’s done it so many times over the years that it’s like breathing, instinctive and she doesn’t even have to think about it.  
  
Dressing is a bit harder, because she doesn’t feel quite settled into her skin, like she has to get used to her body all over again. And when she leaves the bathroom, wet curls beginning to frizz in the humidity, Nick will be waiting by her vanity, patient as he always is. And once she takes a seat, he will brush her hair, smoothing out the ringlets and eventually pulling her locks into a twist to leave her neck bare.  
  
Because this is the hardest part. She has to remove her collar.  
  
Blunt fingers stroke the skin of her neck, and Natasha closes her eyes momentarily when she feels them unclasp the collar, and suddenly the comforting weight is gone and it feels like she has been set adrift. Nick kisses her temple and she breathes out softly as the collar clinks gently against the surface of the vanity, the metal tag glinting in the warm light of her quarters. It is a strange feeling, seeing something so integral to herself being taken away, but it's necessary.  
  
Shifting her eyes to look at the unblemished curve of her throat, Natasha can't help but frown. Due to her inclination towards undercover missions, and the knowledge that there are areas off-limits to slaves, she has to sunbathe regularly to ensure no tanlines appear on the delicate skin of her throat. Clint would always recline in a tree and keep guard with a tranq gun in hand, making sure no one saw anything that could be reported to the DRPOP.  
  
But in truth... Natasha really fucking hates it.  
  
She's almost jealous of the lines on Clint's throat, the steep contrast between light and darkened skin that he bore with pride the few times she has seen him without the collar. It is an irrational emotion, she knows, but Natasha can't help it. She wants to have Nick's mark on her as surely as Coulson's appears on Clint.  
  
Blinking when gentle fingers release her curls from the twist, Nick smiles at her in the mirror as he pulls something from his pocket.  
  
It's almost as old as the collar, and Natasha can't help but return the expression as he slides the cool metal onto the ring finger of her left hand. The smooth gold winks as it catches the light and Nick runs his hands through her hair once more  
  
"Can't have dumbasses thinking you're available." He rumbles behind her, and Natasha smirks lightly. Nick is a possessive man at heart, and if she can't wear his tag, he always has this to show she is his and his alone.  
  
Twirling the band once to become reacquainted with it's weight, Natasha sighs in contentment. Clint can keep the tanlines, because she is the one who has a ring, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I kinda agonized over Natasha's last line, as it's not meant to be cruel, just that it's the truth. So I wrote a Clint blurb in response that I couldn't fit in due to the flow of the story, so it's below in the comments. :D


End file.
